Two years ago today I posted this:
The oldest of The Sweeties, Mack, who won’t be four for a couple more weeks, asked his mother yesterday, “Is Santa fake?”
He’s obviously intelligent, already doing the analysis necessary to reach this conclusion.
Of course, if he was really smart he’d have kept his beliefs under wraps for a few more years.
Jill reports that Mack, now nearly six, “seems to be going along without questioning it this year.” (That’s his letter to Santa on the right.) Jill also reports that she is sad at the prospect of telling him the truth soon enough. She remembers learning herself, and she was just five.
Funny thing is, I can remember my mom telling me, too. I must have been about five. I can remember that we were in the car and I can even tell you we were driving on Grand River Avenue near the post office in Redford (a part of Detroit, not Redford Township where we lived).
Anyone else remember when they found out?
Funny, I can’t remember either of my parents telling me. It must have been so traumatic I blocked it out. Or… perhaps an older brother whose bubble had been burst when he was little decided he would take it out on his little sister. (Just kidding. My big brother would have never been so mean to me!)
Why do you ever need to tell the kids, they will figure it out. And keeping up the charade is good for them, teaches them how to live in the real world.
I remember learning it in second grade, it was whispered furtively in the playground, but then my maybe family is weird. We all still sneak down furtively and stuff stockings at 3qm on Christmas morning, and we all just pretend. No children in the house at all.